One knows the endearments that such an occasion exacts.  They come out of a full heart and bear no repetition, for only a full heart can understand them.  They swept over Janet, for the moment blinding her in her fondness for this child, full of swift impulse in her gratitude, and drugged with romance in her mind.  But once those endearments had been spoken, when once the presents had been divested of their paper wrappings—­porcelain representations of the Bambinos from Florence—­a marble statue of the Venus de Milo from Pisa—­an ornament in mosaic from Rome—­when once they had been set up, admired, paid for in kisses of gratitude, then Janet gave words to the questions that had been looking from her eyes.

“What sort of a settlement has he made on you?” she asked.

The inquiry, notwithstanding the fact that it had been spoken with a gentle voice, tuned to consideration for her feelings, struck the sensitiveness of Sally’s mind, whipped the blood to her cheeks.

“There is no settlement.  Why should there be?”

“Why?  Well, for every reason in the world, I should think.”

“There is none, then.”

“You haven’t even suggested it?”

“No!”

She rose, turning away from the bed where she had been sitting, with the tears smarting in her eyes.  Janet looked after her, an expression of contemplation pursing her features, wrinkling her forehead.

“I think I’ll go and see Mr. Traill,” she said slowly.

Sally wheeled round, her heel a pivot to the motion.

“What for?” she asked.

“I think he’d better be told that he can’t play indiscriminately with women like you.”

“He’s not playing,” Sally retorted violently.  “You’re cruel, Janet.  If you do go to him, I’ll never speak to you again.”

“That’s quite possible; I should expect that,” Janet replied imperturbably.  “Whenever one tries to arrange the affairs of people who cannot arrange them themselves, one must anticipate that sort of treatment.”

“Ah, but you don’t understand,” Sally pleaded piteously.  “He would hate any interference of that sort.  He would hate me through it.  We don’t look at the thing in the same light that you do.  You make a business of it.  Do you think if I had ever seen it in that light, I could have done what I have done?  You know I couldn’t.  I should loathe myself too.  I tell you, we love each other.  There can be no question of settlement in such a case as that.”

Janet looked at her with pity.  It was hard for her to say all that she intended; but the mind of the revolutionary, however wasted its cause, has kindred with the mind of God.  Justice and truth before all things is the cry of it, and let suffering be a means rather than a hindrance to the end.

“Never drown sorrow,” Janet had once said from her pinnacle of enthusiasm, “the dripping ghost of it’ll haunt you.  Don’t drown it—­save it, learn of it.”